


always

by Cirro



Series: with you [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirro/pseuds/Cirro
Summary: Love makes you do stupid things. In this case, that stupid thing is introducing Zoro to Zeff, not realizing that they share one thing in common: embarrassing Sanji as much as possible.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Series: with you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534361
Comments: 61
Kudos: 462
Collections: Zoro and Sanji Fics





	always

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short follow-up to my old Christmas fic, written in a fit of nostalgia bc I got so many nice comments that my heart cried tears of joy. Thank you to everyone who read and liked my silly story. I hope this one makes you feel happy too.

Okay, here's the thing a lot of people don't realize about Sanji: he's a sap. He's a _romantic_ sap. When he was fifteen years old, on the cusp of manhood, he put on sunglasses and tugged his hood on over his head and headed to the library, just so he could borrow Pixar's “Up” and repeatedly watch the beginning 10 minutes without being judged by his peers.

He spent the next week watching porn to get rid of the shame afterward.  
  
When he was twelve, he was still begging Zeff to tell him bedtime stories about the mermaid who fell in love with a prince. Zeff would dutifully tell him the story each time, though sometimes it would only last five minutes, with four of those five minutes filled with as much profanity as Zeff could manage as he cussed out the characters’ stupidity. Other times, the story would last hours, with different details from before. Sanji would always imagine himself as the prince who would fall for the mermaid, no matter what spell, what trick was in his way. Of course, it was not until he was older, much older than he would like to admit, that he realized the story, the real story, ended much more tragically. Still, he could never get the idea of being a prince out of his head: he would be the faithful, dutiful, loyal prince who would wait for his lady love through thick and thin, through sickness and death and loneliness.

That last part was especially important to him.

So it was a wonder, really, after all his dreams of finding a beautiful lady love, that he ended up with a photosynthetic neanderthal who probably didn't know that his brethren had all been rendered extinct. No, _homo neanderthalensis_, we no longer hunt mammoths because we are civilized _homo sapiens_ and we depend on fucking _agriculture_ now.

But the thing is, Zoro also has the sheer dumb luck God granted to the seemingly impossible ongoing existence of lemmings, which explains how this neanderthal survived extinction and is sitting beside him. Zoro could probably somehow uncover the existence of mermaids, point at her, and say, "What the fuck is wrong with your legs?", not realizing that he's being rude _as fuck_, and that he literally just discovered a fantasy species.

This might all be a hypothetical situation created in Sanji’s, admittedly, over-imaginative mind, but Sanji _knows_ this is what would happen.

So really, _really_, Sanji doesn't know how this happened. _This_ being them in a car, heading to Zeff's place, their hands linked in the space between them.

"Oh, shit," Sanji mutters under his breath. “Oh, fuck.” He's been saying this for the last ten minutes, and each time he says it, he thinks about letting go of Zoro's hand and ejecting himself from the car, road rash and impending death be damned, because how can he face Zeff like this? What would that shitty old man think of him? He's bringing a _creature_ home with him. A creature that might resemble one of the many marine sponges that are common in coral reefs around the world, but not at all like his beloved mermaids. They might share a common habitat, but imagining a green sponge in a shell bra is just wrong.

But instead of catapulting himself out of a moving vehicle, he just squeezes Zoro's hand harder, and Zoro squeezes back, and somehow that makes the tight feeling around his chest ease, and then Zoro will glance at him from the corner of his eye, and smirk that annoying little fucking smirk of his, dimples and all, and Sanji—

“Shit,” says Sanji.

Listen. Sanji’s a sap. A _romantic_ sap. The only person who knows this currently is Zeff, and he suspects Zoro has an inkling too, despite possessing the under-developed brain of _homo_ _neanderthalensis_.

Sanji takes a deep calming breath, and wishes suddenly for the comforting, acrid taste of tobacco smoke. But he knows if he smokes now, he'll have three cigarettes in his mouth within the next few minutes, and that's difficult to enjoy properly when he doesn't want to let go of—

Shit.

This is worse than that time he tried to quit smoking.

Zoro's driving and keeping about 60% of his attention on the road. Sanji knows this because he's alternating between smirking at Sanji like an asshole, and rubbing the back of Sanji’s hand in comforting little circles.

Fuck him and his shitty, thoughtful gestures.

They finally turn into Zeff's neighbourhood — in the suburbs because Zeff is a shitty old man who probably knits socks when no one is watching — and Sanji feels a swell of panic. He knows, intellectually, that Zeff has already met Zoro that night in front of the restaurant. They exchanged words even! Probably. It's possible they just grunted at each other.

Sanji rubs at his mouth and grips Zoro's hand a little harder. Maybe he should have shaved, but it’s not like Zeff hasn’t seen him scruffy and sleep-deprived before. Zoro returns the squeeze. It’s reassuring. Grudgingly.

"Turn left here," says Sanji. Zoro nods and starts to turn right.

"Turn left here," he says, louder. Zoro’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance but he dutifully turns the wheel the opposite way, with only a slightly vindictive squeeze of the hand in retaliation.

_Homo neanderthalensis_. Seriously.

They park in the driveway and Zoro cuts the engine. They have to let go of each other's hands to get out of the car, but instead, Zoro waits patiently, like an asshole, while Sanji collects his nerves and slowly loosens his grip.

"Not. A. Word, marimo," he says through gritted teeth.

Zoro complies, but that only riles Sanji up more because he knows Zoro is thinking he's an idiot. He knows this because Zoro smiles wider, that _jerk_, and there's a little hint of teeth that Sanji’s all too familiar with. 

“You’re an idiot, shit cook,” says Zoro, confirming Sanji’s impeccable mind-reading.

Before Sanji can launch himself at Zoro and possibly strangle him _with his feet_, Zeff’s front door slams open and there's Zeff, standing in the doorway, mustache bristling menacingly. Sanji lets go of Zoro's hand, nearly slapping it away. Sanji still has the presence of mind to realize he's flailing for no reason because Zeff probably didn’t even see them holding hands.

God, is stupidity contagious?

“You really are an idiot, idiot cook,” says Zoro, with that dimple-edged smirk.

No one can blame Sanji for what he does next.

Both car doors are flung open, but neither of them manage to successfully exit the vehicle. Sanji’s foot is on Zoro's face while Zoro has a hold of Sanji’s other leg as they both battle for dominance on who gets to exit first. It doesn’t matter who exits first, but it’s the principle of it that makes Sanji shove his foot further into Zoro’s face while trying to escape his clutches. 

“Why the hell are you like this?!” yells Sanji. His torso is half out of the car, which means he’s closer to winning than Zoro is. 

“You fucking started it!” Zoro yells back, that fucking _liar_. He’s nearly ripped off Sanji’s pants but Sanji is a sensible man and has worn a belt.

Sanji would feel bad for attempting to crush Zoro’s stupid face with his feet, but this is par for the course for them and he’s pretty sure he can still see Zoro smirking at him.

They eventually make it to the front door, red-faced and glaring, but it only lasts a moment because Zeff, the absolute traitor, sneakily winds his hand behind Sanji’s neck while he's distracted and tugs him forward to plant a kiss on Sanji’s forehead.

Sanji, to his eternal embarrassment, feels his face heat up. He covers it up by scowling at Zeff. Zeff gives him a wicked grin.

"Good to see you, little eggplant."

Sanji softens without meaning to.

"Good to see you too, shitty old man," he mumbles, scowl still firmly in place by sheer force of will. There's an odd mixture of embarrassment and gratefulness that's brewing in his chest, and he might do something absolutely mortifying like give Zeff a hug, so he's relieved when Zeff steps back and looks to Zoro instead.

“So this is Zoro, huh?” asks Zeff, even though he already knows who Zoro is. The smile falls off his face.

They stare at each other in silence.

A bead of sweat trickles down Zoro's neck. Sanji squints at him, struck by a ridiculous bout of worry. Maybe he shouldn’t have attempted to wrestle Zoro into submission in front of Zeff.

Zeff's mustache slants to the right. Then to the left. In response, Zoro’s eyebrow raises and he cocks his head to the side in challenge.

Why is Sanji surrounded by assholes? Where are the civilized _ladies_? What did he do to deserve this?

Sanji wishes suddenly that Luffy were here, despite the Curtain Incident. His obliviousness would have immediately destroyed this ridiculous silence. Sanji would gladly sacrifice Zeff’s curtains for it.

There are a few more seconds of intense staring before Sanji rolls his eyes.

"Alright, you dumbasses, you already know each other so let's get inside before we all die from exposure."

He pushes past Zeff and grabs Zoro's hand without conscious thought, pulling Zoro in behind him.

Zeff _hmphs_ and crosses his arms.

"So this is who you've laid your affections on, eh?"

Sanji rolls his eyes. Zeff once wondered why he needed glasses. In Sanji’s opinion, the answer can be found in the amount of dumbfuckery that goes on around him and the nearly constant urge to roll his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, it’s not like that, da—" and immediately snaps his mouth shut.

The mortification is back. He can feel his blood rushing to his face. And even more, he can feel Zoro's laser-eyed stare following the creep of red over his face that's probably lighting up the room. He doesn't dare turn around, but he can sense the change in the room. He knows, with the foreboding instinct borne from self-preservation, that Zeff and Zoro have come to an Understanding.

* * *

Dinner at Zeff’s is a nice affair. If "nice" could be used to describe a flaming wreckage of _shit_.

Of course, it's probably a very nice time for Zeff and Zoro. It's just a steaming pile of combustible crap for Sanji. Sanji should have known nothing good would have come out of Zoro and Zeff sitting down and “talking.” Sanji can concede that while he isn’t necessarily the best at expressing himself due to various reasons, he is most certainly better than both Zeff and Zoro combined since they average a total of three words or less in an hour. This number also coincidentally coincides with the total number of brain cells left in the room.

Zeff seems determined to communicate with Zoro purely through subtle shifts in his mustache, while Zoro seems perfectly content with replying through indecipherable glances and using the least amount of facial muscles possible.

This means that when words do come out of their mouths, it’s mostly to Sanji’s detriment.

It’s pure torture.

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink enough water, little eggplant?” says Zeff, shoving a glass of water at him. “You’re not an idiot so don’t act like one. Take care of yourself.”

“I know, shitty old man!” Sanji snatches the glass of water from him and slams it onto the kitchen counter, stalking towards the kitchen pantry. Zeff crosses his arms and looks at him disapprovingly.

“Oh, do you now? Because I recall—”

“No! No, we are not doing this in front of the marimo.”

Sanji vindictively slams the pantry door open. Zeff always has a few sets of aprons hanging behind the door. Sanji makes to grab the cleanest one to spite Zeff when he notices a set of smaller children’s aprons. Years ago, Zeff had installed a few pegs halfway down so that Sanji could reach his aprons without help and it looks like he never removed them.

Sanji grudgingly grabs the one with patches sewn on instead. When he turns around, Zeff and Zoro are sharing a look.

Sanji points an accusing finger at them.

“Both of you need to shut the fuck up!”

“We didn’t say anything,” says Zoro, the fucking liar. Sanji can see that Zoro has moved at least one facial muscle, which means he just told Zeff something embarrassing about Sanji. Zeff’s mustache is slanted to the right, which means he’s trying hard not to laugh in his face.

“Don’t you lie to my face, marimo,” says Sanji, tying the apron strings behind his back. Zoro is goddamn lucky that he’s half-distracted with figuring out what to make for them. Zeff always has a well-stocked fridge and good quality spices that Sanji doesn’t get to play with often, so he has a lot of ideas that require most of his attention. Sanji yanks out the pots and pans with a vengeance and turns on the stove and oven with a click. When he turns back to glare at them over his shoulder, he can see that they’re _conspiring_, the fucking conspirators.

“Zoro, did you hear me say anything?” says Zeff with a supremely deadpan look.

“No, sir,” says Zoro smugly.

Zeff raises an eyebrow at Sanji as if to say: _see_?

“You shitheads piss me off,” mutters Sanji. He feels like a petulant brat but he knows what he saw. The oil is hot enough to use now so he can fry the spring rolls he prepared last night. There’s a brief, blessed moment of silence as Sanji fries his spring rolls. Sanji takes the opportunity to drink his water.

Then Zeff walks right up to him and slaps his hand onto Sanji’s forehead. Sanji nearly chokes.

“You better not catch a cold this season, baby eggplant,” says Zeff, as if he doesn’t fucking know Sanji is perfectly fine and healthy. Sanji is too busy coughing his lungs out to protest. “I’m not gonna take care of your dumb ass. Dress warm. Get those damned flu shots.”

“Shut up, old man! I know!” shrieks Sanji, trying to take out his spring rolls from the oil before they become overcooked. It’s harder than it should be on account of him trying to expel liquid from his lungs.

“He forgot,” mutters Zoro conspiratorially.

Zeff frowns at Sanji in mock disappointment. Sanji turns his back on them pointedly and slides a tray into the oven.

“I raised you better than that.”

“Old _man_!” Sanji doesn’t _whine_ but it’s a close thing. “And you!” Sanji spins around and points an accusing finger at Zoro. Sanji has a feeling that’s going to be happening a lot. “You can get lost on a straight road so shut up or I’ll kick your shitty ass!”

“Hey, little eggplant, could I get some more booze?” asks Zoro. Sanji is in the process of complying, his hand around a new beer bottle and shutting the fridge closed with his foot, when his brain finally registers what was said. Zoro grins at him, not even worried about the fact that Sanji is gripping a bottle ready to be broken over his shitty head.

Zeff looks away from them for a moment and a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort erupts from his direction.

Sanji grits his teeth. The ease of their unprecedented teamwork is honestly disgusting. As a red-blooded man's man, Sanji is _pissed_. And when he's pissed he cooks. A lot. It's probably a pavlovian reaction induced by Luffy but the fact remains. He sets to work on chopping onions with a speed he only reserves for when he is restraining himself from kicking someone’s teeth in.

"Don't fall for his bullshit, Zoro, he's not actually pissed," says Zeff. Sanji does his damnest to ignore him, glaring at the sizzling contents of his wok instead.

_Traitor_, Sanji thinks viciously, glaring harder and pretending like he can’t feel his skin turn hot with embarrassment.

Zoro nods sagely.

“I know,” says Zoro. Sanji glares at his wok in homicidal rage and imagines setting the entire house on fire. Zeff clinks his beer bottle to Zoro’s and then they sit together, like _chums_, in companionable silence, watching Sanji cook himself into a frenzy.

"Fuck off," says Sanji. He places the plate of freshly fried spring rolls in front of them. "I hate you."

Zeff and Zoro glance at each other.

"Fuck off," says Sanji again. The oven beeps to accentuate his point. Zeff’s shitty oven mitts are old and covered in a flower print that would not be out of place in a Victorian grandmother’s home, but they work well enough. Sanji grabs the tray inside the oven and thinks viciously about how he’s going to burn this entire place to the ground.

He gives them both the stink-eye before plating the steaming bacon-wrapped scallops with precision, sliding them into place right next to the spring rolls. They’re placed just out of reach so the fuckers have to actually get up and grab one. He’s not going to be their shitty server and if this places them within reach of getting their asses kicked then that’s just pure coincidence.

Zoro gets up and nonchalantly gets all up in Sanji’s space. Sanji is about three seconds from kicking him out of the way when Zoro sneaks a hand around him and steals one of the scallops. Sanji will be damned if he kicks Zoro and it falls to the ground in the ensuing chaos, so he resists the urge. Zoro pops it into his mouth and immediately goes still as a statue.

Sanji pauses at his reaction. In his periphery, Zeff is smiling for no discernable reason.

"Should I make something different?" asks Sanji. Zoro gives him a disbelieving look.

"What?" It comes out more defensive than he wants it to. Sanji knows he's a good cook. But there's still something a little nerve-wracking making a meal for someone in his childhood home. In front of his old man.

Zoro swallows, barely bothering to chew, the absolute barbarian.

"It's good," is all he says. It’s enough to make Sanji break out into a smile, forgetting for a moment that he was about ready to kick their asses into next week and/or commit arson.

Zoro looks a little dazed, but Sanji just chalks it up to the appetizers being that good.

When he recovers, Zoro turns to Zeff, who is still smiling that secretive smile, and the first thing out of his uncultured mouth is, “did you know he headbutted me when I confessed to him?”

Sanji just barely restrains himself from throwing the entire wok at Zoro’s head.

* * *

Sanji makes the mistake of thinking that the actual dinner will be better. To be fair, he thought that they would be too busy eating to try and embarrass him to death, but instead it’s somehow even more mortifying. Probably because he actually has to sit there and look at their dumb fucking faces.

The reason for why Sanji’s struggling on the idea of whether or not to let his soul depart this plane of existence actually begins with the day Zoro and Sanji met.

Everyone knows how Zoro and Sanji met.

It was all very dramatic. There were sparks (of rage), stars in his eyes (from a possible concussion), and blood. At least that’s how Sanji remembers it. Again, he might have had a concussion. Depending on who you ask, the story either gets more violent (Nami), or devolves into a scene where they run into each other’s arms on the beach at sunset (Usopp). Luffy also has his own version of the story, even though he wasn’t there.

What most people don’t know is how they ended up living together. For five years. When Sanji thinks about it, which he tries hard not to do, even he doesn’t understand it.

It’s embarrassing, honestly, because it makes so little sense how he just let Zoro into his life without much of a push (or punch, as it were). It’s one thing to meet your soulmate in a fairytale setting with destiny and fate working to get you two together, and quite another to end up living with a barely sentient pet rock for five years because it somehow launched itself at you and hit you square on the nose. Normal people would have immediately called the cops or filed a complaint or, at the very least, avoided the fucker from then on, but no, Sanji ended up living with the guy.

For reasons.

Sanji has taken many pains to divert everyone’s attention to how they ended up living together for five fucking years. Most people just know that they fought, they met, yes, in that order, they became roommates and then maybe something more.

The real story is more embarrassing. Or rather, the details of it. It had more to do with how Zoro affected him just with his presence: a face-down photograph he finally put upright after letting it collect dust on his counter, a trip to a lake he hadn’t done in years, digging through his nearly empty album and finding an old, worn photograph of a woman and her son, which he had tucked into the sun visor of his car so he could carry her with him.

Sanji doesn’t like to think about the details too much because voicing the words to how much Zoro affected him, even in his head, gives it a sort of reality that burns hot in his chest.

So, of course, Zoro’s spilling the beans like it’s no big deal right in front of Zeff, the one person who understands Sanji and his unvoiced thoughts better than himself.

_Beans_, Sanji thinks, pushing his food around his plate absently because his brain is short-circuiting. The two conspirators are sitting there like there’s nothing cataclysmic going on and sharing _words_.

“He complained,” says Zoro, mouth full of food like a shitty degenerate.

“Shut up and swallow your food, stupid marimo,” Sanji mutters on auto-pilot. Zoro grips Sanji’s hand from under the table. Sanji’s squeezes back and tries not to die.

Zeff nods. “He does that.”

Sanji stares at the scratches on the dinner table and wonders if he can forget this evening if he bangs his head hard enough on the surface. Zeff gives him a soft kick from under the table with his peg leg like the freaky telepath he is.

“He almost broke my table,” continues Zoro, oblivious to Sanji’s soul evicting from his body.

“He breaks my tables all the time,” agrees Zeff. Sanji carefully pulls his plate closer to Zoro. Zoro spears another scallop from his plate without even looking.

“I kissed him and then he tried to decapitate me,” says Zoro, then pauses to swallow his food, fucking finally. “And then he let me stay.”

Zeff pauses with the beer bottle to his lips. Sanji can feel his pointed look even though he’s not looking, shoulders up to his ears. He can’t bring himself to look up and face them.

_Beans_, Sanji thinks again.

* * *

Zeff forces them to take at least twenty food containers home with them, complaining that Sanji needed to eat more to stay healthy. Sanji had argued back that Zeff was more likely to break his hip and was therefore more in need of food, and then somehow ended up with thirty food containers to take home for his efforts. Sanji is a little perplexed because he’s pretty sure it’s more food than what they arrived with. He suspects Zeff foisted the containers on him because he didn’t want to wash them himself.

Before they leave, Zeff and Zoro exchange another wordless conversation where they both seem to come to the same consensus. They nod at each other before Zoro grabs all the containers to throw them into their car. As Zoro is struggling to get the car door open, apparently refusing to put anything down in an act of stubborn rebellion, Sanji turns back to Zeff and gives him a quick hug. They don’t hug often, and when they do, it’s awkward and quick and always ends with Zeff messing with Sanji’s hair. Sanji doesn’t want to admit it, but he misses these small touches.

“Take care, baby eggplant,” says Zeff fondly, ruffling Sanji’s hair into a bird’s nest of a situation. “Don’t catch a cold.”

“I won’t, old man. Take care. Don’t die,” replies Sanji. Sanji brushes his hair out of his eyes and takes in Zeff and the way his wrinkles have become a little more pronounced since his last visit, crow's feet curving more noticeably at the corner of his eyes. His heart swells for a brief moment with an indiscernible feeling that he really doesn’t want to define. He darts in to give Zeff another awkward, quick hug goodbye. Zeff pats him clumsily on the back.

“Alright, get out of here, shitty brat,” says Zeff. “And bring back those containers!”

“You just want me to be your shitty dishwasher!” yells Sanji over his shoulder as he heads down the steps. Zeff crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb.

“I ain’t denying it.”

Zoro has somehow managed to get everything in the car and looks to be halfway into a nap just by leaning against the passenger side door. Sanji jogs up to him before he can slide off and hit his head on the pavement, waving back at Zeff who watches him with a smile from the doorway, only closing the door when he sees Sanji back the car out of his driveway.

* * *

The drive home is quiet. The street lights alternate between too bright and being so dim someone probably already complained to city council. The radio is turned down low so all they can hear is the indistinct noise of someone murmuring. The driver side window is cranked down, cigarette smoke escaping through the gap, but he doesn’t want to open it all the way since the nights are starting to frost over.

Sanji always drives them back when they go out to eat somewhere because Zoro gets sleepy once he gets his stomach full of food and booze. He might already be dozing off in the passenger seat because he hasn’t said anything in a few minutes, but he’s not quite out completely because he hasn’t started snoring like an obnoxious shit head, for which Sanji is grateful.

Sanji sneaks a peek at him. Zoro’s arms are crossed and his brow is furrowed, which means he’s trying his damnest to fall asleep. It’s an ability that Sanji has always envied. Sanji suffers from insomnia a lot of the time, which is why he tends to try and work as much as humanly possible so he can just beat himself over the head with exhaustion and fall asleep that way. But ever since he and Zoro have moved in together — five fucking years ago, how is that even possible? — Sanji has found that it’s become easier to fall asleep.

Five years.

Sanji bites hard on his cigarette and then snuffs it out. He drives them home.

* * *

Zoro, to Sanji, is a lot of things.

Asshole, on most days. Idiot marimo, on other days.

On rare, quiet days, he’s something else entirely.

Sanji’s a sap. A romantic sap. But he never thought he would be the object of someone’s attention like this. In all his fantasies, he was always the one chasing after someone and showering them with love. He never imagined having an actual, real relationship with someone. He never imagined something like what he has with Zoro.

Morning starts at five sharp for Sanji even on his days off. A lot of chores get done during the early hours of the morning, and he can take stock of his kitchen’s inventory and plan for the day. After living with Sanji for a while, Zoro has started to wake up at seven because the smell of breakfast lures him out of their bedroom.

They always sit down to have breakfast together: Sanji will read the news on his phone, and Zoro will antagonize him about something or other and it will devolve quickly into a shouting match about something they both won’t remember later. Probably has to do with Zoro’s awful table manners, that absolute slob.

Then, Sanji will get up and wash the dishes, back turned to Zoro, and Zoro’ll probably be his typical lazy self and drool all over the table Sanji _just_ wiped clean. It’s clockwork for them. But this morning, when sunlight dapples through the blinds and they’re both settled more than usual, Zoro steps up beside him. Before Sanji knows it, they’re doing the dishes together, with Zoro drying them off and stacking them neatly in the way Sanji prefers.

It’s domestic. It’s weird. It’s weird because it’s not weird at all. Not the way they sometimes bump shoulders, or when Sanji starts calling him little ridiculous nicknames to annoy him, or when Zoro gets this weirdly soft look on his face that undercuts his retort.

That odd, burning feeling wells up in Sanji’s chest.

Zoro notices when Sanji’s hands stop moving and he gives Sanji this look, like he knows what Sanji is thinking.

“You’re an idiot, marimo,” Sanji says instead.

Zoro shrugs.

“Asshole,” comes the usual reply.

That should be the end of that, but for once, Sanji takes a moment and really thinks about it. About them.

It had happened so suddenly. It was like they’d known each other for years. The moment Zoro stepped into Sanji’s life, as violent and ridiculous as it might have been, was the moment something _right_ slotted into place. It also happened to coincide with Sanji meeting a lot of other people. And that meant a lot to Sanji, who had— well, he had often felt lonely growing up. It’s a topic he doesn’t want to think about, let alone talk about.

The gist of it is that Zoro is someone who doesn’t know about his past, who sees Sanji for just Sanji, fractured pieces and all, and accepts it. Zoro doesn’t care about his past, doesn’t care about Sanji’s weird misgivings about certain things. Zoro just—

Zoro just gives him this look like he’s drinking in the sight of Sanji beside him. His gaze is steady and resolute, as if standing side-by-side makes as much sense as the very fact that they exist. It’s a look that Zoro gets when he thinks Sanji isn’t watching.

Sanji puts the plate down.

“I don’t get you, Zoro,” says Sanji, hands still covered in suds. Zoro gestures at him impatiently and he rinses the plate off before passing it over. “How can you be so sure?”

Like all other instances in their relationship, Zoro seems to understand what Sanji means despite minimal information.

“We’re together. That’s all I need.”

“Oh,” says Sanji weakly, a bit shaken at this revelation.

Zoro dries off his hands to grab a beer out of the fridge even though it’s barely nine in the morning. Sanji stares at the broad expanse of his back. His chest burns.

Sanji clears his throat roughly, trying to dispel the feeling. Zoro is settling himself onto their couch like he didn’t just drop something monumental at Sanji’s feet.

The coffeemaker sputters back to life as Sanji makes himself another cup of coffee in an effort to occupy his hands and shake off any residual nerves. Zoro has a habit of blurting out things that are earth-shattering, not even realizing their effect on Sanji unless it nearly makes Sanji's head explode.

The warm smell of fresh coffee permeates the room and Sanji sighs, letting the tension fade from his shoulders. He pours some out into his favourite mug — one with tiny painted fish on it that Zoro had gotten for him a few years ago at a dinky shop on the side of the road — and settles down in the living room beside Zoro. Who, of course, didn’t use any coasters. Sanji gives him the stink-eye. Zoro smirks around the lip of the beer bottle and makes a lewd gesture with his tongue that makes Sanji grimace at him.

“Shitty degenerate,” mutters Sanji.

Zoro chuckles and they lapse into a comfortable silence. It’s only when Sanji’s lulled into a false sense of security, sipping from his mug, that Zoro turns to him, cocks his head, and blurts out, “Are we getting married?”

Sanji nearly spits out his coffee. It’s only from his five plus years of experience of dealing with Zoro that he manages to not scald himself and ruin his favourite pair of jeans.

“WHAT?” he sputters.

Zoro looks at him calmly.

“Well, we’ve been together for a while, we live together, we’re around the right age, and you just introduced me to your dad,” says Zoro in a very matter-of-fact tone, like this isn’t something huge and undefinable. “The next step is marriage, right?”

These are the times when Sanji wonders if Zoro is actually a real, functioning human being or if Sanji’s the idiot for liking him so much. Sanji puts his mug down. On a coaster.

_Homo neanderthalensis_, thinks Sanji distantly. 

Sanji stands up and looks at Zoro. He walks away. Then walks back. He takes a moment to compose his thoughts and opens his mouth.

“I don’t—” His efforts at composure have failed. Sanji is floundering. Sanji is floundering like a fish out of water. Sanji is floundering like a goddamn fish thrown haphazardly into a fucking volcano. By a tornado. “I—you can’t just—_what?_”

Zoro looks at him like _he’s_ the dumbass and repeats, slower, “are we getting married?”

“I heard what you said!” yells Sanji, a bit hysterically. “I meant, what do you mean ‘_are we getting married?_’” 

Zoro shrugs, _like an asshole_. “What’s there to understand?”

“Is this—is this your idea of a proposal?!” yells Sanji, on the verge of screaming.

Zoro rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” says Zoro. “Marry me.”

Sanji knows he looks like an idiot but he can’t help boggling at Zoro.

Zoro frowns at him. It’s a frown that means he’s wondering if something’s wrong with Sanji’s head. Sanji thinks this is completely unfair. _He’s_ not the half-sentient rock with moss growing on its head. He’s an actual, civilized human being who communicates with thoughts and words.

“Is it that surprising?” asks Zoro.

Sanji has a vague sense of déjà vu.

“Yes!” screams Sanji, running his fingers through his hair. He’s going to go bald in a few years, he just knows it. “You don’t just— drop that on someone without warning!”

“But I didn’t.”

“What do you mean you ‘_didn’t_?!’”

“I love you,” says Zoro. “Why would it be surprising that I want to marry you, too?”

And that’s— that’s monumental, that’s _mind-blowing_. Because it means Zoro has felt this for him _the entire time_. And it’s never changed. 

Sanji has never, in all his fantasies of romance and love, imagined _this_.

“Did you— did you get rings?” Sanji asks weakly, for lack of a better thing to say. He can hear his voice crack into a rasp but, seriously, _what the fuck?_

Zoro frowns, thinking hard. Then he reaches up to his earrings, takes one out, and offers it to Sanji. Sanji stares down at his hand, unmoving. Zoro waits patiently, arm outstretched like he has all the time in the world, all while sitting on their ratty couch, with the beer stain from when they got drunk that one time during Zoro’s birthday, across from the coffee table with the chipped corner that they bought from the thrift store because they didn’t have a big enough table to eat dinner together, and there are ring marks on the surface because Zoro never uses coasters, and Sanji—

Sanji takes the earring.

Zoro’s looking at him casually, like he didn’t have a doubt in his mind about Sanji’s answer or their future. Together.

_Always_, Zoro means.

Sanji looks back at him.

“I’m not wearing earrings,” says Sanji.

Zoro rolls his eyes but makes no effort to take back his earring.

“Then I’ll get some rings. But they’re coming out of your paycheque,” says Zoro, like he doesn’t know they already share their finances.

“You are such an asshole, marimo,” hisses Sanji. The earring is cool in his palm, catching the light with little starbursts of gold, and staring at it makes it suddenly a little hard to see. There’s this bright, vibrant feeling expanding from his chest and making his cheeks hurt. He feels almost lightheaded with it.

Zoro smiles back at him, gentle and happy and with minimal assholery for once. Zoro reaches out for him, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s waist and pulling him down onto the couch with him.

Sanji sits down with an _oof, _and Zoro takes the opportunity to lay across Sanji’s legs like a giant shitty cat. 

“Marry me,” says Zoro into Sanji’s hip.

Sanji looks down at him, with the full knowledge that he probably looks like a romantic fucking sap, and runs his fingers through Zoro’s short crop of hair. Zoro lets go of his waist and rolls over to look at Sanji face on, sulking. Sanji rolls his eyes but indulges him, hearing the unspoken demand.

The grin on Sanji’s face is mirrored on Zoro’s own when Sanji bends down and kisses him. Zoro doesn’t need Sanji to tell him to know that he’s said _yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> I find it so much harder writing in Sanji's POV bc he tends to insult Zoro in place of admitting anything even in the privacy of his own mind. I think Sanji's actions show his love a lot more effectively, but alas! writing in his POV means he's not aware of it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this follow-up. Any comments will be loved forever :')


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